Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/30740.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Star_Trek:_Alternate_Original_Series_(Movies), Star_Trek
  Relationship:
      James_T_Kirk/Spock, Jim_Kirk/other_people
  Character:
      James_T_Kirk, Spock
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe, Dubious_Consent, Teacher/Student, Brief_suicidal
      ideation, References_to_Past_Child_Abuse
  Stats:
      Published: 2009-12-18 Words: 7240
****** Education ******
by Tyleet
Summary
     Five times Jim had inappropriate sex in high school and one date he
     knew was not going to get him laid.
Notes
     Contains graphic underage sex, but there is no romantic teacher/
     student content while the student is underage. References to past
     child abuse and brief suicidal ideation.
Here is where it changes: the day after Jim drives his father's car over the
edge of a cliff, Frank gives him two options: join his aunt on Tarsus IV, or
immediate enrollment in Starfleet Secondary School.
Jim clutches his fist so tightly around the medal for bravery he rescued out of
the hall cabinet that the metal edge of the Starfleet icon cuts into his skin.
He chooses San Fransisco.
Fourteen
Jim loses his virginity the same day he gets a new xenobiology instructor,
halfway through freshman year.
His former Xenobio teacher changed tracks from medical to engineering at
semester, and therefore is no longer required to spend her afternoons teaching
Jim Kirk and the rest of SSS the subtle yet important difference between
Romulans and Remans. Her replacement is another first year cadet, only the
grapevine says not human. Jim was kind of looking forward to the change,
because he's never had an alien instructor before. He and Isaac Menjievar set
up a betting pool as to whether it'll be a Deltan or an Orion slavegirl.
Instead the alien waiting at the front of the classroom when Jim shows up at
0835 on the nose is a Vulcan. Vulcans are about as uninteresting as alien life
gets, and within five minutes Cadet Spock proves himself to be no exception. He
launches directly into the lesson without an introduction and manages to use
the word "fascinating" at least three times in reference to Tellarite molecular
biology.
Jim is rescued from this crushing disappointment by Blue Passmore. Blue
Passmore isn't actually blue--which is kind of a shame because Jim kind of
thinks that might be really hot--but she is a sophomore, and she paints her
nails bright pink, and he likes the way her hair catches the light. And she
wears see-through shirts that show the color of her bra if you sit behind her
in a morning class, like Jim does. Also she apparently wants to meet Jim in the
hedge maze behind the Astrophysics building at 1700.
He enters yes into his PADD underlined in all caps, and then hits send. Then he
saves her message and forwards it to Isaac, because he'll never believe this
without solid proof.
The curve of Blue's cheek as she smiles slowly down at her own PADD is
strangely compelling, as is the outline of her bra (bright green today)
vanishing into the gauze of her shirt, and—he shifts a little in his chair—the
crescent of skin where her pants ride down every time she leans forward in her
chair. Jim stretches forward himself, and wonders what she would do if he
traced his stylus over the small of her back.
"Mr. Kirk," the Vulcan says, clearly not for the first time, and Jim jerks his
focus back to the front of the class. A face that manages to be both blank and
annoyed stares back at him. "I require your full attention be given to
Tellarite biology at this time."
"But Cadet Spock," Jim says easily, feeling Blue's eyes on him, "Terran biology
can be just asfascinating, wouldn't you agree?"
A raised eyebrow. "Yet it is not the focus of today's lesson, or indeed of this
course."
"But wouldn't it be awesome if it was?" Jim counters, looking sideways at Blue.
"I'd take a class on that in a heartbeat."
She giggles, and he feels a rush of warmth in his chest.
"It is available," Cadet Spock says smoothly, "as Biology 102, which was a
required course for all ninth year students last semester, although it
apparently did not make a great impression on you, Mr. Kirk."
There is a small laugh around the class, and Jim sits back in his chair,
grinning at Blue. "Yeah, but that was all textbook. I'd like a more…hands on
approach."
"Also available, as Biology Tutorial 456 where students assist classes at the
Academy in dissection of terran cadavers," Cadet Spock says, barely pausing for
breath. "If you wish to know more, I suggest you avail yourself of a
coursebook. For now, return your attention to chapter 28 of Advanced
Tellarusian Molecular Processes." He returns to the front of the classroom and
meets Jim's eyes. "And Mr. Kirk, please see me after class."
Jim gets detention. Not surprising, considering the whole Vulcan thing, but not
the way Jim would have liked to start the day. In the end, though, it's not
important, because the detention is scheduled for 1710, and there's no way
Jim's making thatappointment.
Instead he meets Blue, as planned, in the hedge maze behind the Astrophysics
building. It's a perfect meeting place, since nobody ever goes there except
other SSS kids with not very understanding roommates. And the occasional
Academy professor, of course, but Jim's more than willing to take that chance.
"I thought you had detention," Blue says when he gets there, hooking her
fingers into his belt loops.
"I decided to skip it," he smirks, and kisses her.
She lets him feel under her shirt, and after he squeezes her breasts for a
minute she slides one hand down the front of his pants. He comes into her pink
fingernailed hand forty five seconds later, and that's it: his first orgasm in
front of another person, ever. He feels a rush in his head that just might be
love. She pulls her hand out of his pants and for a second Jim feels another
interested twitch because his come is in between her fingers—and then she
starts laughing, and he is mortified.
"Oh my god, Jimmy," she snickers, "Was that your first time?"
His face is burning, and he wants nothing more than to fall off the edge of a
cliff and die, but he's already been there and done that, so instead he gives
her a huge insincere smile. "Of course it was. You don't think you're that
good, do you?"
It's his turn to laugh while she sputters, and then he kisses her on the cheek
and walks away, leaving her standing there with a messy hand and a suddenly
furious expression.
He shows up at detention ten minutes late with a flushed face and rumpled hair,
underwear drying uncomfortably against his skin. He pretty much hates his life.
"You are late," Cadet Spock informs him without looking up from his PADD. "The
scope of your detention is extended to include tomorrow afternoon as well."
"Give me detention every day this year, I don't care," Jim says, and that does
get him a look.
"I had hoped to spend my afternoons engaged in more interesting activities, but
if it becomes necessary, I will not hesitate to do so," Cadet Spock says
sternly.
"Yeah, well, I really hoped you were going to be an Orion slavegirl," Jim
shrugs, sitting down and pulling out his homework. "Today's just shitty, I
guess."
Cadet Spock looks at him for a moment, sets down his PADD and proceeds to give
a fifty minute lecture on current Federation affairs surrounding the Orion
slave trade and manages to keep Jim completely engaged, to his own surprise. By
the end of the hour, not only is Jim grudgingly sorry for the bet with Isaac,
he's about ten times more interested in Federation politics than he's ever been
before. He's almost convinced that this pointy eared bastard, at least, might
not be as boring as he seems.
"Do not forget, Mr. Kirk. Your detention begins promptly at 1700 tomorrow."
"Yeah," Jim says, and casts the Vulcan one more appraising look. He gets a
raised eyebrow back. "I'll be there."
He shows up the next day, ten minutes late.
Fifteen
At the beginning of Jim's sophomore year, Spock stops calling them detentions
and starts calling them tutorial sessions, which means they only meet three
times a week and Jim has to write papers on their discussions, but he doesn't
really mind. Besides,Federation Politics and Philosophy is probably doing a lot
more for his academic record than two solid years of daily detentions.
"Hey Spock," he says one day, tossing his bag on the floor. "Can I ask you a
question?"
"The use of appropriate titles in this facility is not optional, Mr. Kirk. And
yes, of course you may," Spock deadpans.
"Okay, we're not even going to argue about that today, this is way too
important," Jim declares, scooting his chair up against Spock's desk. He waits
for Spock to set his work aside, and then comes straight out with it.
"Are you half human?"
Spock freezes for a moment—nothing your average person would notice, but Jim
likes to think he's got a better handle on SSS' resident Vulcan than most
people. "Yes," he says after a short pause. "I am."
Jim bursts into a grin. "You're shitting me, right? That's awesome!"
Spock's mouth thins. "Your language is once again inappropriate to this
setting. And my racial diversity is not in any way relevant to my capacity to
act as your instructor."
"No, it's not—but it's still kind of cool," Jim argues. "I mean, here the whole
school's thinking you're the quintessential green blooded hobgoblin, and it
turns out that you're half Canadian!" Saying it aloud makes him laugh again in
sheer amusement.
"How did you know that my mother is from Canada, Mr. Kirk?"
"I sat in on a lecture at the Academy the other day." To watch a girl, but
Spock didn't need to know that. "They were talking about hybrid technology, and
one of the T.A.s brought up Amanda Grayson's case. And I thought it might be
you." Jim looked at Spock curiously. "Are you seriously the only Vulcan/Human
hybrid ever?"
That had Spock's eyebrow up with a vengeance. "In all seriousness, I am. I am
curious as to what caused you to come to the conclusion that I, out of the six
billion Vulcans in the galaxy, must be the one human hybrid in existence."
"Well," Jim smiled. "Your eyebrows are really expressive, sometimes."
Spock's hand twitched just slightly on the desk, as though he were about to
smooth the curve right out of his brow, but caught himself before he did.
"But it was probably just a lucky guess," Jim added quickly. "You're totally
awesome at being a Vulcan. Half Vulcan. A teacher. Whatever, you're awesome."
"I appreciate your confidence," Spock said dryly. Jim thinks the tiny twist at
the corners of Spock's mouth when he's being doubtful is really hilarious. It's
his "I'm a Vulcan, an adult and your instructor, I actually know more than you
on any subject you care to name, so you should probably shut up and listen to
me" face. It's also sort of fond though, Jim's pretty sure.
"Surprisingly, I believe your topic of choice has not drawn us too far away
from my original plan for today's discussion." And then Spock does that thing
Jim loves where he smiles with his eyes. "What have you previously been taught
about I.D.I.C.?"
Apparently not enough, judging by the several thousand pages of reading Jim
takes home and the extra three classes Spock decides is necessary to fully
cover the subject. It's all—to coin a phrase—fascinating stuff though, and Jim
doesn't hesitate to put it to practical use the next chance he gets. Which
happens to be at the Halloween party Jim's Irish nemesis Finnegan throws in
Turing House, a week later. A bunch of townies crash, along with a boatload of
off-planet students on an educational trip.
Tana is Andorian, which apparently means that after a night of dirty dancing
under the strobe lights in Finnegan's kitchen she's willing to follow Jim back
to his cramped dorm room and let him run careful fingers across her antennae.
"This is so exciting!" she says brightly in between kisses. "I wrote a paper on
human sexual interaction when I was at primary, but I never thought I'd get to
see so much of it up close!"
"Blue is my second favorite color after green," he tells her inanely, and she
giggles, pulling away for a second to strip her tunic off.
"Okay," she says, leaning back on the pillows. "How do you want me?"
Jim licks his lips. "Well, you know what the Vulcans say." She laughs aloud at
that, and he raises a cocky eyebrow at her. "There are infinite combinations."
Sixteen
Junior year is awesome. Jim builds a motorcycle from scratch, convinces Isaac
to trawl some outworlder bars with him on regular Fridays, and mysteriously
winds up joining chess club.
"I'm not here," he announces to the room of comicbook geeks and Retinax using
nerds on his first day. "Because I am obviously way too cool for you nerds, and
you are obviously too weak to withstand the full force of my awesome. And if I
can't be here, and you can't bear me to be here, nobody else ever finds out
that I'm in chess club. We clear?"
"I don't know him," Isaac says apologetically from beside him. "He's just a
random crazy person who followed me in here. And is in no way shape or form is
he my best friend. At all." He gives Jim a clap on the shoulder and abandons
him for a quiet, nerdy looking girl with a three dimensional chess set.
The group turns out to be uneven, actually, so Jim is left sitting across the
board from the club's advisor.
"I am going to kick your half Vulcan ass," Jim says happily, making the first
move.
"Your language, overall demeanor and use of idiom are wildly inappropriate,"
Spock says sternly. Elegant fingers hover over his pieces, then settle on a
knight. There's an amused quirk to his mouth. "And I highly doubt the veracity
of your statement."
Yeah, junior year is pretty great. He's taking two classes with Spock
now—Intermediate Warp Theory, which is Spock's last seminar before he fulfills
his teaching requirement, and their tutorial, which is called Astrophysics and
Military Strategy this year. He gets good grades too, along with what he'd like
to think of as Spock's respect, which is honesty pretty sweet. He works his ass
off, but for once in his life it feels worth it.
Everything's so great, actually, that he totally forgets about March until it's
already there.
Jim always misses classes on March 22nd. Nobody ever really notices, as far as
he can tell—it's not like he doesn't play hooky at fairly regular intervals the
rest of the year just for the fuck of it. He hasn't thought about it much, but
he guesses he doesn't miss Spock's classes that often, which might go a little
way towards explaining the series of waves Jim gets when he misses two weeks in
a row starting March 10th.
"Mr. Kirk. Daily attendance is preferable. Your assignments have been sent to
your SSS profile."
"Mr. Kirk. It is considered appropriate to send word if you do not plan on
attending your tutorial so that your instructor does not waste his entire
afternoon waiting on your arrival, as I have for our last three meetings.
Understand that this will affect your overall grade. Your assignments have been
sent to your SSS profile."
"Mr. Kirk. Are you ill? Please respond."
"Mr. Kirk. This is the fifth tutorial session you've missed, and the third
class meeting. Am I to assume you no longer wish to be enrolled in these
courses? I cannot make exceptions. Please respond."
"Mr. Kirk. If you require any assistance, I shall endeavor to be of whatever
aid I can. Please respond."
Jim doesn't reply to any of them, because that would mean he'd actually have to
go near his mail center, and that isn't something he plans on doing anytime
soon.
Instead he shuts himself in his room for a week with as many bottles of hard
alcohol he could steal from the rest of the dorm, and tries not to think about
her message.
On the 22nd that stops working, as it always does, so Jim stumbles out of his
room and tries to make his way out of the dorm. He has vague thoughts of the
city, of sleazy downtown bars, of hot bodies that could make him forget. He
doesn't get as far as the window before he's arrested by the view from the
lawn. Classes must have just got out, and in and amongst the busy throng of
teenage bodies, a familiar form makes his graceful way out of the quad. Red
cadet uniform standing out against the cacophony of teenage fashion, stupid
sleek haircut, barest hint of pointed ears. Jim doesn't know what to do with
the sudden ache that hits the center of his chest, or the tightness in his
throat. He does know that it hurts, especially since he already feels like he's
been punched in the stomach for ten days straight.
Standing suddenly seems far too difficult, so he collapses against the wall,
breath coming in shallow, panicked puffs against the window. He stays there
until Spock is out of sight, and he probably would have stayed there for a lot
longer if Finnegan hadn't come down the hall.
"Kirk!" A hand slams into the wall next to Jim's shoulder, and he gives it a
distracted glance. "Did you steal my bottle of Saurian brandy?" Finnegan asks
threateningly. His face is close to Jim's, and he looks pissed off.
"Yeah," Jim says. He rolls his shoulders against the wall, and feels faintly
like he's going to be sick.
Finnegan yells something else, face turning red, but Jim's not paying any
attention. He lunges forward and crushes their mouths together.
It's a pretty bad kiss by Jim's standards, but he remembers to do the thing
with his tongue at the end, and he's pretty sure he feels Finnegan shiver
against him. He shapes his mouth into a smile, and pulls back.
"Hey, Finnegan," he says. Finnegan doesn't respond, but keeps staring at Jim,
red faced and stunned. "You want a blowjob?"
Sucking cock is easier than Jim thought it would be. It feels hard and slightly
spongey under his tongue, and the taste isn't as bad as he'd thought. Sex is
sex, after all, and it's not like he'd never thought about it with a guy
before. Maybe once or twice he'd thought about Isaac like that, wondered what
he would be like.
But Isaac has a girlfriend and Finnegan is here, gasping on the edge of his bed
while Jim digs his knees into the floor of Finnegan's dorm room and licks up
his dick.
It's pretty easy to get Finnegan off, although Jim has no idea what to do with
the jizz that's suddenly making him gag. The rest shoots all over his face,
warm and wet on his cheeks like tears.
Finnegan presses trembling hands to Jim's hair, and says in a dazed voice
"Shit. I had no idea you were into that."
Jim's cock is still hard, but he gets up anyway. "Yeah, well, it's my
birthday."
He goes back to his room and watches the message again. Yellow hair going gray,
hated blue uniform, a face he hasn't seen for six years. None of the other
birthdays mattered, why should this one?
Her voice is cut off by the notification sound of a new wave coming in. He
doesn't answer it, but stays staring at the monitor as the new image slides
over his mother's face.
"Mr. Kirk." Spock's voice is sharp and tight. "If I do not hear from you in the
next twenty four hours, I am going to inform security that I believe you to be
suffering from a medical emergency. Please—"
Jim hits respond, and Spock breaks off, something like relief flashing through
his eyes so quickly that Jim can't be sure it was there to begin with.
"I'm fine, Spock," he says tiredly. "I'm great."
Sixteen, Again
Jim and Finnegan fuck more or less continuously for the rest of junior year.
Jim hadn't thought it would be more than a one time thing since he's hated
Finnegan's superior guts since the first day they met, but apparently Finnegan
felt differently. Out of the blue he started showing up at Jim's room offering
sex, and after the first few times Jim stops questioning it. It isn't until he
starts hanging out with Jim in the common rooms and inviting Jim to the city
with him and he stops playing shitty pranks on Isaac and Marlena that Jim
realizes Finnegan thinks they're together together. After a while Isaac
convinces him this is something to feel guilty about.
"You know I don't like you, right?" he blurts out the night before finals week.
He's writing an essay on the eugenics war, using Finnegan's back for a desk.
He's having a little trouble concentrating, and he's sure the work reflects it.
Dear Spock, I was going to rant about General Rickli's totally retarded
military strategy for ten pages, but then I got worried that the guy I'm
sleeping with might like me. How's that for illogical? He presses his forehead
into the small of Finnegan's back and tries for total honesty. "I mean, I
actually think you're an asshole."
"Fuck you too, Kirk," Finnegan says in a muffled voice, not lifting his head
from Jim's pillow.
"No, seriously," Jim says. "I've hated you from day one. Which was also the day
when you stuck a bowl of cold soup in my bed, by the way."
"Man up," Finnegan stretches, upsetting Jim's PADD. "That was fucking aeons
ago. Could you be more of a twelve year old g--Ow!" he jerks as Jim scratches
him with the stylus in revenge. "What the hell?"
"You messed up my PADD," Jim mutters.
"You're fucked up, you know that?" Finnegan flips around on his back to glare.
"Fuck you, Finnegan, I'm being serious," Jim says, and stabs the stylus into
his PADD with more force than strictly necessary. "You get it?"
Finnegan rolls his eyes. "Do I get that you're with me because you figured out
you like dick, and not because you're in love with me? Yeah, Kirk, I kind of
figured that out. I'm not an idiot."
"And you don't care." Jim is finding this hard to believe. Isaac's lecture had
been pretty impressive.
Finnegan's eyes narrow and in one quick movement he has Jim pressed into the
bed, Jim's PADD digging into both of their ribs.
"Of course I care," Finnegan growls. He pries one hand between their bodies and
retrieves the PADD, tossing it to the side. "And so do you. The question is,
are you ever going to grow up and admit it?"
Jim is angry enough to kiss Finnegan hard enough to bruise and tilt his hips so
that Finnegan settles naturally between them. "Well," he says. "There are
always possibilities."
The last paragraph entered onto the PADD reads:
Despite this, the lunar colony remained largely unaffected, largely due to
Spock, I wish I could ask you. I know what I have to do, and I know it's
illogical to ask you questions that I've already made up my mind about, but I
want the emotional security. And no, that's not stupid, that's human, which
you're half of. Sometimes I wish you were more human. I wish you|
Jim stays with Finnegan until halfway through the summer, and lets him cup one
hand around the back of Jim's neck when they're in public, and kiss him on the
dance floors of downtown clubs.
It's in July when they get their course packets that it dawns on Jim that
Spock's teaching requirement is over, and he won't be back the next fall.
"Indeed not," Spock says when Jim waves him about this absurdity. "My
requirement is fulfilled. Furthermore as I am graduating in the winter, it
would be a most unproductive use of my time."
"But you could do it anyway?" Jim seizes. He ignores the stab of guilt that
says Spock's already been spending more time at SSS than is strictly required,
thanks to Jim.
"I do not believe so," Spock says, not unkindly. "I'm afraid my current
selection of classes makes it impossible."
"But who am I going to—" talk to, Jim doesn't say. "Play chess with?"
"There are sixteen more than adequate partners in the organization who would be
more than willing to play with you."
"But they won't be you," Jim says flatly.
"No," Spock agrees. "They will not."
"So, that's it?" Jim asks, starting to get angry and knowing that he has no
right to. "You're just going to leave, and I don't get to see you again?"
"I would hardly say that," Spock says quickly. "If you continue on the course
you have set for yourself, I have no doubt that you will be admitted into the
Academy in a year's time. I have no intention of leaving San Fransisco any time
in the next several years, so it is only logical to assume that we shall
interact with each other again."
"If I get in," Jim repeats bitterly. "How do you know I even want to go? My
stepdad made me come here, it's not like Starfleet was my choice or
anything—fuck, maybe I'll go back to Iowa and build motorcycles, I could--" he
is interrupted by a single word, but it makes his heart stop in his chest.
"Jim," Spock says quietly. "Whatever you choose, I shall be proud of you."
Jim almost thinks that one sentence could last him the rest of the year. He
holds it inside him the entire way to Finnegan's room, which is when the rest
of it comes bursting through.
He will not see Spock every day. Not talk to him about whatever, not be
challenged and frustrated and pissed off and amused and happy, really fucking
stupidly happy, every day. Not feel that tight ache in his chest irritating the
shit out of him for fifty minutes every twenty four hours, the sheer joy at
coaxing out an ironic word, an amused glance, an unguarded look?
Jim curls himself in a ball, and lets Finnegan fuck him.
They're both pretty far gone when Finnegan stops, dick still hard and twitching
inside Jim's ass. "Hey," he asks, voice uneven. "What's wrong?" And that's when
Jim realizes he's shaking, and it's definitely not from pleasure.
"Nothing," Jim rasps, as if Finnegan might not recognize what the shuddering
heaves of his back mean.
And Finnegan might be stupid and arrogant and Irish and oblivious, but he
presses one hand very softly to the center of Jim's chest, and Jim sobs aloud.
"Say my name," Jim begs.
"Jim," Finnegan says, and kisses his shoulder.
"Again."
Jim is a desperate mantra in his ears when he comes. There's a moment of white
intensity that breaks Jim into a thousand shattering pieces, and a high pitched
whine and a name burst out of him.
"Spock!"
The body behind him freezes.
"What," Finnegan asks, low, hurt, shocked. But he heard.
Jim goes limp, and wishes he would die.
 
Seventeen
Senior year sucks, and it's not because he broke up with his boyfriend, or
because his supposed best friend wound up taking said boyfriend's side, or
because he has senioritis just like everybody else. It's not even because of
that word Jim carried safe inside his chest, that shines like all the hope in
the galaxy some days and scrapes against his ribcage like a Cardassian throwing
star other days.
It's because all the parties suck.
This is absolutely the reason why Jim decides to crash the Starfleet Academy
Winter Ball and lose himself in the throng of cadets going wild with post
finals tension. He's beyond delighted at the open bar, the happy crush of
bodies and the way he blends in because for once, no one's wearing uniforms.
He sets about getting very, very drunk and finds the prettiest human he can
see—a girl with legs that go up for miles and gorgeous golden cleavage and a
shiny pink smile—and dances with her. He shimmies himself against her body and
listens to the bright sound of her laughter and absolutely doesn't look over
her shoulder for tapered eyebrows and a bowl haircut.
He wouldn't be here anyway, this isn't his thing, Jim knows, and he's so
utterly convinced that he actually stumbles into his dance partner when he
finds what he's looking for.
Spock, standing stiffly by the bar, head tilted down to talk with a blonde
cadet in a tiny black dress.
"Sorry," Jim says apologetically to his dance partner, patting vaguely at her
shoulder. "I have to go."
He doesn't stay to listen to her reply, just pushes himself blindly forwards
through the crowd.
"Spock!" he bursts out when he gets to the bar.
Spock turns, eyes widening when he sees Jim. "Mr. Kirk," he says blankly.
"Spock," Jim says, not caring that he's already said that because here is
Spock's stupid hair, shiny and black and the same as ever, and here is Spock's
mouth, curved and emotionless and tempting, and his shoulders, and his awkward
nose, and his hands, and the shadows over his eyes that drive Jim crazy, they
always have, here is Spock.
The blonde cadet appears from around Spock, smiling. "I'm Carol. I don't
believe we've met?"
"He is a student of mine," Spock says quickly.
"Former student," Jim emphasizes.
"A student at Starfleet Secondary School who is in no way authorized to be at
this venue." Spock raises his eyebrow, and god, Jim has missedthat.
"That's true," Jim agrees, grinning broadly. "But I like it here. Spock."
"That does not make it any more acceptable, Mr. Kirk."
"Call me Jim," Jim says pleadingly. "I liked it when you did before."
Carol-the-blonde-cadet is raising her eyebrows too, but she doesn't look nearly
as interesting as Spock when she does it. "I assume you're going to deal with
this now?" she asks, which doesn't make much sense to Jim.
"Affirmative," Spock replies, casting her a quick glance.
She nods. "I'll see you in class." And then she leaves.
"Spock," Jim interjects, wanting Spock's eyes back on him, "You should really
dance with me."
Spock actually sighs. "Not possible. Please follow me," he says, and starts to
walk away, slowly, so that Jim can keep up.
When Jim stumbles, Spock stops and actually puts a hand on Jim's shoulderto
steady him. Jim can feel his heartbeat pounding everywhere—in his head, in his
stomach, in his dick—but Spock leaves the hand on his shoulder as he navigates
them through the crowd, and it's just a hand, for christ's sake, but Jim can't
even breathe.
"Where are we going?" he asks when they're out of the ballroom and into the
hallway. The sound of the music is muted but still present, bursting into
existence whenever someone opens the door.
The hand tightens on his shoulder for just a second, and Jim shivers, his lips
parting automatically.
"I am escorting you back to the Secondary School campus," Spock tells him, and
keeps propelling them forward.
"No, let's not," Jim says firmly. "It would be much more awesome if we stayed
here." And he stops dead still, considers sitting on the floor to make his
point.
"This is not your decision," Spock tells him, and his hand drops away. Jim
makes a bereft noise and steps in closer to Spock, hoping for it to come back.
"Step away from me, Mr. Kirk," Spock says quietly. His mouth is very close.
"It would be really awesome if you danced with me," Jim says, looking up from
Spock's mouth to his eyes. They are wide, dilated, and Jim can't remember what
that means in Spock-ese. "I'm a really fucking good dancer," he adds hopefully,
giving a tiny shimmy to demonstrate.
Another sigh, a small puff of air against Jim's nose. "Jim," Spock begins, and
whatever he was going to say after that is lost, because at that word Jim loses
control. He makes a small, inarticulate sound and reaches, arms wrapping around
Spock's back and head tucking itself into Spock's neck.
He has time for about two seconds of bliss—Spock's body harder and softer than
anything he's ever felt before, and he could swear he feels Spock's hands
tighten against his ribs. It's better than Jim dreamed this could feel—the
world sharpens to just this, just them, and he kisses the throbbing pulse
against his lips. He moans helplessly into Spock's neck, and then his two
seconds are up.
Spock rips himself away, white and shocked and the set of his mouth is furious.
And that makes Jim angry too, because it's been years and Spock's not even his
teacher anymore and it's notfair.
"Come on," Jim feels his ears burning and knows his voice is too loud, "I know
you don't think of me as a kid."
"No," says Spock, finally. "I do not."
Something splits open in Jim's chest like triumph.
"I think of you as my student." Spock's eyes are intense and focused, the naked
truth in them slamming into Jim like a freighter.
Jim wants to scream, or cry with frustration. Instead he hears his voice come
out soft and wobbly. He hates it. "But I'm not anymore." He wants to hurt back,
to take this ugly thing inside him and get it out. What's it like not to feel
anything? Friendship, or love, or heartbreak? Fuck you, Spock, the rest of us
aren't that lucky.
Spock just looks at him with human eyes, brown and honest and painful, and Jim
can't say it. Jim loves him for those eyes, but he wishes they didn't have to
hurt so much.
"Yes," Spock says gently. "You are."
He takes Jim home.
There's a second at the entrance to the dorms, when Jim is leaning against the
turbolift and Spock is turning to go, when Jim says it.
"So you don't care." The words twist in his mouth, and he can't meet Spock's
eyes.
"Jim," Spock says with a small sigh. "You cannot keep pressing this. It is fair
to neither one of us."
"I just," Jim says, because he's always had to push, and because he's just
drunk enough to be vulnerable instead of vicious, "I just, I guess, I thought
maybe you did. That's all." He winces even as he gets it out, and squeezes his
eyes shut.

He opens them when he feels a gentle pressure. Spock has stepped back in, and
is very softly resting a hand on Jim's shoulder.

"You were not incorrect," Spock says with extreme care, his eyes close and
brown and intent. "You are cared for." His fingers tighten briefly on Jim's
shoulder, and Jim fights back a shiver. "But you must respect my answer."
Jim nods, wordlessly, and Spock lets his hand slip away, and heads to the door.


"So, so that's a no?" Jim asks at the last second, because he's never known
when to quit.
Spock pauses at the door. "At the very least," he says levelly, "It is 'not
yet.'"
Jim gapes, and Spock vanishes.

He gets himself off that night to the memory of Spock's arms around him,
Spock's pulse against his lips, Spock's perfect nearly impassive face and soft
hand on Jim's shoulder. He comes, and then grins helplessly at the dark,
Spock's last words playing over and over again in his head.

There is no such thing as a no-win scenario, Jim thinks with perfect clarity,
and lets his eyes drift shut.
Eighteen
Graduation comes as a surprise. Jim supposes some small part of him still
thought Iowa would catch up with him someday. That he'd never be allowed to get
this far. What's even more surprising are the ribbons draped around his neck,
and the Academy acceptance letter folded into his diploma. He guesses being the
protégé of a Vulcan must have paid off sometime in between all the sex and
drinking.
He's not sure he really believes he's here, at the top of his class and halfway
down the second row, listening to an admiral tell his class about the amazing
futures in store for all of them.
But whether he believes it or not, he is here, and there's a hell of a lot
further to go. There's a whole galaxy out there, a thousand possibilities, a
thousand stars and suns all filled with humans and Andorians and Tellurites and
Orion slavers and Orion slavegirls and Vulcans who love logic and Vulcans who
love humans and all kinds of people Jim's never slept with or talked to or
dreamed of. He can't wait.
"Please welcome the class of 2251."
There's a roar of applause, and it can't even bother Jim that it's all other
people's parents and relatives out there cheering, because he's here and that's
amazing. He throws his hat into the air, and there's suddenly a lot of hugging
going on—Isaac, arms tight around him, demanding that Jim doesn't forget him up
there in the command track, that they'll still be friends at the
Academy—Marlena, crying and telling him to just try to grab her ass and that
she'll miss him—Finnegan, awkward and emotional and ruffling his hair with a
"Now you be good, Kirk," and Jim almost doesn't know what to do with himself.
After a while more family members start getting in on the hugs, and Jim
extricates himself and goes to look through the rest of the crowd. He finds
Spock at the back, of course. They've spoken a few times by wave since the
Winter ball, but this is the first time they've met in person. Jim takes a
second before approaching to drink in the sight of him: a tall figure dressed
all in black, hands clasped gracefully behind his back and eyes that are locked
on Jim.
"Spock," he greets him, a smile tugging helplessly at his lips.
"Mr. Kirk," Spock replies, and Jim might protest the use of his last name if he
couldn't see the uplifted corners of Spock's eyes that mean Spock wants to
smile too. "My congratulations."
"I, uh, I couldn't have done it without you," Jim offers.
"Inaccurate," Spock corrects gently. "You are a very talented student, and
would have excelled without my assistance. You will do service to the Academy,
should you choose to accept their admittance."
"Thanks," Jim says, and suddenly knows that he can't say everything he needs to
in this room, surrounded by so many of his friends and teachers and enemies. He
looks carefully into Spock's face. "Walk with me?"
Spock nods his assent, and they make their way out of the auditorium together.
The quad is empty. It doesn't feel smaller or obsolete or anything, just very
well known. And Jim's realizing that he's ready for the unknown and all the
scary beautiful awesome complicated shit that comes with it.
"So, do I seriously have to go to the Academy now?" Jim asks, only somewhat
playfully. He tilts his head backwards and smiles up at the stars. "'Cause I
gotta tell you, Spock, I feel ready to skip the next four years and go straight
up."
"That is entirely possible," Spock says seriously. "Take a transport to one of
the colonies. Join a mercantile company which operates within the solar system.
The Tellurisian Mining Company is seeking workers willing to travel to the Beta
Quadrant. You have not yet officially enlisted in Starfleet. All of these
things and more are possible for you."
"But none of those possibilities mean I get to see it all," Jim says, still
looking up. "I don't want to farm things or mine things or sell things up
there. I just want to go and talk to them, Spock. All those people." It's not
nearly as eloquent as he sounded in his head, but Jim thinks Spock gets it,
because a Vulcan hand reaches up and tilts his head back down.
"If this is the case," Spock says quietly, his forefinger and thumb still
gently touching Jim's chin, "Then I propose that you enlist in Starfleet, in
the command track as planned. In four years I have no doubt that you will be
made an officer. An exploratory mission under Captain Pike is scheduled to
launch at that time."
"And are you gonna be there too?" Jim asks, his heart pounding so loudly in his
chest that he's afraid it might break the moment, the campus streetlamps,
Spock's fingers on his skin.
"That is my hope, yes," Spock admits, and begins to drop his hand. Jim catches
it halfway down, and Spock's indrawn breath is better than sex, better than
anything.
"Spock," Jim begins, and it's just as awkward and hard to say as he'd feared it
would be, but he's Jim Kirk. He strokes Spock's thumb for courage, and then
says it anyway. "I'm kind of in love with you."
"I am not unaware of your conviction, Cadet Kirk. You have been far from
subtle." Spock's face is ordered and calm as ever, and for a second Jim's heart
freezes in his chest, but then he notices the amused tilt of Spock's mouth and
he gasps in relief.
"You're fucking with me!" Jim says with equal parts amazement and outrage.
"I am not." But Spock squeezes his hand, and Jim decides to take it as an
apology.
"So…you're okay with that," Jim guesses.
"I am," Spock says quickly.
"And…" Jim can't say it. Spock being Vulcan is only the tip of the iceberg of
reasons not to ask And how do you feel about me?
"And I intend to continue our acquaintance," Spock says carefully, "if it is
amenable to you."
Jim kisses him. Softly, carefully, just a closemouthed press of lips. After a
moment, Spock kisses back, and brings his other hand around to cup the back of
Jim's head. Spock makes a small sound into his mouth, and Jim thinks he might
explode with sheer joy.
They separate after a minute, and Jim thinks he might be physically glowing.
"There is a long way to go yet," Spock warns, though his voice is soft. "This
will not be easy, for either of us." His lips are faintly green and swollen and
their hands are warm together, and Jim can't help but laugh and kiss him again.
Jim knows he's not getting laid tonight, or probably any time in the near
future. This is going to suck, in a whole lot of ways except the sexual one,
and Jim's probably not going to feel any less frustrated or irritated or
confused than he's felt for the whole of this year. And he's not going to grow
up any faster, because he's young and illogical and he probably drives Spock
crazy in that repressed Vulcan way of his, but he has no doubt that this is
going to work anyway. Because Spock's mouth is warm and close, and because this
feels better than anything he has ever known before.
"I already thought of that," Jim smiles against Spock's cheek a moment later.
"We can totally handle it. I'm Jim and you're Spock. It's going to be great."
Spock strokes Jim's hand with his thumb, smiles with his eyes, and makes no
answer.
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